


Tongue-Tied and Tied Up

by Failteniall, SmudgeDaddy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: EWE, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, I just love Grown ass Hermione and Pansy being best friends, Mutual Pining, Praise Kink, Slow Burn, lowkey ship theo and harry but no we're here for the Luna and Theo romance, what a bloody ripper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28768815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Failteniall/pseuds/Failteniall, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmudgeDaddy/pseuds/SmudgeDaddy
Summary: In what world would Draco Malfoy be friends with Harry "The Chosen One" Potter before he was friends with Hermione "The Golden One" Granger?This one.Now he isn't sure if he wants to dirty talk his way into her bed or show her the type of respect that will lead to more.If only he could get her to talk to him first.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Comments: 16
Kudos: 41





	1. Falling

Draco was nothing if not a punctual man. If that meant he was at the bar on time to recline in the leather armchair facing the door, with a glass of firewhiskey on the rocks in his hand and his sleeves pushed up to his elbow, his eyes of molten silver trailing over the bare legs of one Hermione Jean Granger when she walked through the door, that was merely a coincidence. 

And she never disappointed. 

Dressed in a ridiculous skirt for work that seemed painted on, her legs wrapped in sheer stockings and topped with patent leather mary janes with a heel that Malfoy imagined should be pressed into his back as he slid deeper into her over, and over, and over again. 

She looked frazzled and Malfoy wondered what it would take to have her come undone, preferably wrapped around his fingers. 

She went straight to the bar, not even sparing him a stray glance, not before there was a large glass of Elvish red in her hand. 

His eyes were a thunderous type of hungry as they followed her movements as she made her way over to where he was sat. 

“Malfoy,” she all but spat. She turned her head, looking towards the door as if their mutual friends would walk through that very second if she willed it hard enough. 

“It was a long week, glad it’s Friday, thank you so very much for asking, Granger.” He watched with a smirk as she tossed back a large mouthful of her red wine, and watched as a drop of red sat at the corner of her mouth before a wet pink tongue darted out to catch it. Draco felt his cock twitch with a very keen interest, imaging what else her tongue could do if he asked nicely. His voice came out sounding strangled as he looked her over as her gaze turned away with defiant disinterest. “And you, Granger, how was your week? Make any grown men cry over their incompetence?” 

He saw the small smile she let her wine glass swallow. 

“Not yet, but the night is young.” The way she looked at him from under her lashes, her mouth painted a pretty red, and the mascara crumbling around her eyes, watching the gold in them catch fire, left Draco feeling weak to his knees. 

If it were any other woman sat in front of him he would lean over and whisper that he wanted to spend the rest of the night making her _cry out his name_. But this relationship, if you could call it that, with the brains of the Golden Trio was precarious at best. 

Potter had been the first to extend an olive branch to the Slytherin Prince. And while Draco’s first intention had been to walk away from him, he knew that the future he needed wouldn’t be easy doing it alone. And his Slytherin self-preservation skills made him want the surety that a friendship with The Chosen One would offer.

Potter had been tired of fighting, Malfoy suffering the same, and they had done everything they could to leave the animosity in the past. Malfoy still had many amendments to make, and Potter still had to remind himself that he wasn’t looking into the face of the enemy anymore. But it turns out that they actually made an unlikely pair. They weren’t scared to challenge the other or speak their mind. They had suffered similar fates on opposite sides of the battlefield, and they built bridges together to undo all the hatred they had been shoved into. 

They had both made mistakes, and it had taken a while before they were in a position to acknowledge that with the other, neither taking the time to understand the other until now. 

But they shared an energy that bounced off of one another, and they hated to admit it but they chose each other time and time again. 

Which left Malfoy to confront the fact that his feelings for the Muggleborn witch that he had tried so desperately to ignore in school were still bubbling under the surface. 

But that didn’t mean that he had to act on them. At that thought, Malfoy scoffed and shook his head at his own thoughts. Even if by some miracle he found the courage he had never been known for and was able to act on those thoughts, in what version of Hermione Granger’s personal hell would she ever return the sentiment. 

So, Malfoy spent his evenings working out his frustrations with another nameless witch. Sometimes, when Pansy was feeling especially generous, they would use each other and imagine the faces of those that they couldn’t have. With Pansy there was no awkwardness, they knew each other inside out. She was his constant and one of his greatest friends. And wickedly brilliant and giving. Which meant that as his wonderful and most treasured friend she chose to diligently ignore the name that he called out as he reached his peak. And he returned the favour, ignoring the fact that he wasn’t the one she imagined between her legs. 

And like the best of friends they were, they never discussed it. 

By gods, Draco knew that he wasn’t at a stage to earn Hermione’s forgiveness and friendship, but he so desperately yearned for her acceptance. 

Draco nearly forgot how to breathe as she crossed her legs as she sat at the couch, sipping her wine and glancing over to the door for her friends to waltz in. 

Potter and Malfoy had begun the tradition of going to the pub every friday night after work, drinking away their sorrows and working up the courage to discuss their past with one another, though Malfoy never lost his barb as they talked it over. 

But then Pansy had insisted that she join them, ‘for old times sake’ she had said. So Ronald Weasley and Theodore Nott had soon followed her lead. Theo took it as his personal duty to turn Weasley as red as possible in the face with his innuendoes and sarcasm while Pansy scolded him lightly for teasing Weaslebee so. 

Granger had been the last to join them, with Ginny even making an appearance and giving as good as she got from Theo. 

It had surprised everyone to no end to see the way that Pansy and Hermione had taken to each other. They immediately saw each other as equals, with their sharp minds and Pansy’s forked tongue making for a brilliant dual of intelligence. 

Pansy Parkinson was a force to be reckoned with, and Draco knew that hurricanes would be named after her. A storm of feminine wiles and emotional incapability. Pansy had grown up beside Draco within the sacred 28 and they had both been raised to believe there was nothing that they could be unworthy of- it seems the only exception had been love and affection. 

Pansy was all bad intentions as she swept into the pub and plopped herself into Granger’s lap, wiggling her butt onto her lap as Hermione giggled and pushed at her. 

Pansy Parkinson was all dark bob and garter belts with an almost masculine aggression to her beauty, wearing pant suits with a lace bodysuit tucked underneath and still commanding respect from whichever room she stood in. It wasn’t any surprise that the two powerhouse women in his life would come together to become an unstoppable and ineffable force. 

Pansy ignored Hermione’s attempts to shove her from her lap and pulled at Hermione’s hand that was holding that wine, forcing Hermione to let Pansy drink from her glass. 

“Get your own, you absolute tramp!” The laughter in Granger’s voice completely extinguished any heat. Pansy glanced at Draco but didn’t say anything to him directly, just leaned further into Granger’s chest and whispered in her ear, keeping her eyes on Draco the entire time. 

As Hermione nodded vigorously and giggled again, Pansy stood up form her lap and shimmied to push her skirt back down into place, bending over slightly in front of Hermione who threw her head back with laughter but still reached out to swat at Pansy’s ass before she then flounced off to the bar, pressing a quick kiss to Malfoy’s head as she went passed. 

Hermione looked over with a toothy grin at Pansy at the bar who had managed to be the next served at the bar as the men around her stepped back as if too scared to get too close to something so magnificent as Pansy. 

“She’s absolutely incorrigible.” Hermione said it with something like awe colouring her tone which only served to make Draco snort and Hermione frown at him. 

“If you both want to get a room, I’ll be happy to watch.” He leaned forward in his seat and leered at Hermione, looking her over head to toe in her beige skirt and cardigan, a few buttons undone and a gold chain tucked between her breasts. He wanted to follow the golden trail with his firewhiskey and follow it up with his tongue. 

His golden girl. 

He expected her to turn up her nose at his atrocious manors and deplorable appetite for sexual prowess, but instead she met his gaze and levelled him with eyes burning like the alcohol down his throat and, even with a blush dusting her cheeks, stared him down. 

“You couldn’t handle us.” Draco stared at her for a moment, slack jawed and dumb founded. 

“Jesus fuck, how much have I had to drink?” Hermione cocked her head and watched him with a single brow raised elegantly as she swirled the last dredges of her wine in the bottom of the glass. 

“Oh, Malfoy, we’ve only just begun.” If that smirk settled any deeper onto her beautiful little heart shaped face, Draco would drop to his knees and crown her an honorary Slytherin and taste the nectar at her centre. 

“If the amount of alcohol that Pansy has charmed the barkeep is any indication, it’s going to be a long night ahead.” The sound of Potter’s voice drifted between Hermione and Draco, both of whom sat a little straighter and jumped apart, while Hermione pulled her skirt down a little lower. 

All three looked over to see Pansy playing with the collar of a young boy’s collar, he could only be newly green, as he turned red and stumbled with the trays in his hands full of drinks and shots. 

When he had dropped the drinks onto their table Pansy reached up and gave his cheek a pat. 

“Thanks, handsome.” Se tucked a fiver into his back pocket and watched as he stumbled away with wide eyes and a dopey lovesick grin. When she turned back to the group she did a quick count and gave an exaggerated pout while batting her lashes. “Where are Theo and Weasley?” 

Draco rolled his eyes at her dramatics, almost thankful for Theo’s absence, he and Pansy fed off of each others theatrics and it was enough to send his head spinning after a long week at the office. 

“Ron’s just finishing off some paperwork, won’t be long. Theo caught me in the elevator and decided he wanted to get Ron fired up a little.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck with a wry grin. 

“Oh, pooey!” But in a second her pout was gone and instead Pansy was sauntering into Potter’s arms and laying a quick kiss to each of his cheeks with a brilliant smile just for him. “You’re just in time for the festivities to begin, Potter. Take a shot.” 

She handed him a shot that was shockingly and violently pink and when it was safely in his hand she guided it to his mouth, making sure he swallowed in one go. 

“Pleasure to see you too, Pans,” Harry got out between his grimace which quickly left his face as he had time for his brain to catch up with his taste buds. “What on earth was that? Was easy to swallow, whatever it was.” 

As Malfoy opened his mouth to make a quip about Potter swallowing, Hermione reached out to kick his shin prompting him to shut his mouth quick smart while pansy gave him a sympathetic smile and turned back to Harry. 

“Wet Pussy. Malfoy, could you pass Granger her Wet Pussy?” There was almost a scandalous indecency in Pansy’s innocence as she posed the question for him. Draco sat back with a calculating silence as he took her in, knowing exactly the game she was playing. He squinted up at her and rested his mouth at his mouth thoughtfully. 

“I think you’re much better equipped for that, Parkinson.” He tossed her a lopsided grin and met her innocence with his own oblivious act. 

With a huff Hermione pulled herself up from her chair. 

“For Godric’s sake, I can get my own drink.” But she was barely on her increasingly unstable feet before Pansy was in front of her, pushing her back to her seat with a firm hand and daring eyes. 

“I think not, Granger. Sit your pretty ass down, if Malfoy wants me to help you to your wet pussy, by all means, allow me.” She finished her sentence purring as she leaned across Granger to get the shot glass before knocking it back. Potter’s brows furrowed in confusion, but Malfoy knew exactly what she was doing, but didn’t dare believe it. 

Pansy hadn’t swallowed, the drink sitting in her mouth as she tilted Hermione’s face towards hers by her chin. Granger had the decency to not even bat an eyelid, as if she was already accustomed to the special Parkinson flair that followed the group's antics. 

As their lips met, Pansy passed the shot to Hermione and the group watched as she swallowed it down in one. As Pansy pulled back she darted her tongue out to follow the taste of the drink and slurp up the little that had remained on Granger’s chin. Pansy continued to hover by Granger’s face, waiting for her to open her eyes and they both shared a smile. 

“Delicious,” Granger provided, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She was answered by a loud whooping from Theo watching them from beside Potter. 

“Blimey, the show’s already started.” Ron was stood there too, his coat half off as he watched with a mild expression of disgust, Pansy slid away from Granger as if she had just been scolded but was quick to bounce back, forever playing the hostess, jumping up and passing drinks to both Theo and Weasley. 

Draco hadn’t said anything, and he had stopped watching, instead cradling his drink as the others knocked theirs back. 

Pansy was quick to whisper in his ear that she needed some help with the drinks, making Malfoy sigh. 

“Put it on my tab, Pans.” 

“Not that type of help big boy, though why spend mine when I can spend yours.” She grabbed onto his free hand and dragged him up out of his seat and he had no choice but to follow her. 

As soon as Pansy had released his hand and they were out of eyesight of the group she turned around to look at him quietly. 

“Kiss me.” Malfoy’s head whipped up to look at her in confusion, that wasn’t the type of relationship they had, not in public. Was Pansy confusing this with something more? Malfoy knew he couldn’t offer her anything more than no-strings sex when they both desperately needed it, and yes, if you ignored the entire sexual nature of their relationship, they had been raised together, they were as emotionally equipped to deal with a relationship as a brick wall. Pansy rolled her eyes so hard and fast that Malfoy was concerned by the risk of her pretty brown eyes rolling out of her head. “I can hear you thinking, Malfoy. Just kiss me. Now.” 

When Draco continued to hesitate Pansy took matters into her own hands, quickly grabbing onto his shirt and pushing herself onto her tiptoes to press her lips to his, not shying away from running her tongue across the seam of his lips. As Draco accepted the deepened kiss his heart stuttered minutely. Pansy didn’t taste just like Pansy, she tasted spicier than usual, not her usual sweetmint, but something headier. And Draco could think of nothing more than devouring her. 

Pansy pushed a little more forcibly on his chest, pushing him away from her, and as soon as Draco was away from her mouth, no longer seeking the Christmas-time spice, he was able to take back his control, smoothing down his shirt and sweeping a hand through his hair. 

“Second hand kisses, Malfoy. Now you have something to work towards.” With a smirk, Pansy leaned into his ear, whispering her next words. “Could you taste her, Malfoy?” 

Draco’s eyes widened comically as he realised that it had been Pansy’s plan all along. 

“Thought I’d give you something to work towards.” With a wink, Pansy turned to flounce off. “Buy the next round, won’t you, Draco? It’s the very least you could do.” 

\------

After his part in the war, for which only some of it could be blamed on his misguided childhood and manipulated circumstances under the Dark Lord’s control and tyranny, Malfoy had thought there wasn’t a Godric’s chance in Slytherin that his career prospects would improve. When you come from vast wealth and you have greater things to concern yourself with, the ability to maintain a firm grip on living for instance, thinking of what will become of you at the end of a seemingly endless war doesn’t quite make priority in your thoughts. 

But when the endless war did, in fact, end, Draco Malfoy was left with seemingly very little prospects for his career. 

He had always considered curse-breaking or working with potions in some capacity, but if he had to give an answer for where he thought it would be likely he’d end up working at the end of the war his answer would have included a great many places except for the Ministry of Magic. 

Surely no self-respecting government organisation would want anything to do with him and his dirty affiliations or misdeeds. 

Apparently, he was wrong. 

With Potter’s friendship came the fact that he was approved of by the minister of magic, and had his restricted access removed, granting him a career working alongside the Department of Law Enforcement as a specialist curse breaker. 

He wasn’t well liked by his colleagues or even his boss, for that matter. But no one could argue that Malfoy was underqualified in his knowledge of dark artifacts and curses. 

Thankfully, Potter had made the request that Auror partners Potter and Weasley get to partner with Malfoy whenever the need arose when their work required a curse breaker. The perks of associating with The Chosen One. 

So Malfoy was kept busy, and had little to do with his colleagues who had very thinly veiled distaste for his presence in the office. 

Malfoy had just stepped into the elevator at the ministry of magic and had been waiting for the doors to close as a hand shot out to keep the door from closing. 

Looking dishevelled, as was his signature, Harry Potter tugged on his jacket and his hoodie to straighten them as he shot Draco a cheeky smile and went to stand next to him on the elevator. 

“Morning Malfoy.” 

“Potter, as always, you manage to surprise me with the rapidly declining standard with which you dress.” Draco waved his hand down his own body and then mimed fixing his hair. Once upon a not so distant time ago that would have caused Potter to jump at his throat. Now, however, Potter just laughed and struck a pose. 

“I’m so sorry, I forgot the Slytherin Prince has particular standards. Wake up early just for your hair, did you? I’ll take the extra hour of sleep that you clearly lose.” Draco nodded his head in mock understanding, waiting before they were to walk out of the lift before delivering his reply. 

“The less fortunate have been known to need more beauty sleep - shame not even that could help you.” And with those parting words, Draco stepped off the elevator and made his way towards his cubicle as he heard Potter’s barking laughter as he rode on in the elevator. 

It wasn’t that Draco was opposed to the idea of making friends at work, well, okay, yes he was a little opposed to the idea. But when he got to work he didn’t hear anything around him, he became so wholly focused on the problem or the research at hand that nothing else mattered. 

So when he finally looked up into bright violet eyes he felt discomfort, wondering how long she had been waiting for him to resurface. 

“Loone-a!” Malfoy managed to catch himself just in time, before he could start the conversation on the backfoot. Narcissa would have reminded him to mind his manners. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

Luna had always seemed to have vacant eyes, but now, looking into them, Draco could see the brilliant spark in them and the sharp edge of her violet cat eyes.

“I made some Butterbeer Fudge, shall we get some tea?” Malfoy didn’t think that really answered anything, and he sat still a moment longer, not registering that Luna had asked him a question. 

“You made some Butterbeer Fudge?” Draco slowly repeated. Luna’s brows furrowed and she shot him a confused glance. 

“Yes, Draco, I made butterbeer fudge. Those wrackspurts are deep in your ears.”

“I..” Draco cleared his throat and started again. “Yes, tea. Right.” 

Snatching up his empty mug from his desk Luna trailed him out of his cubicle and towards the staff café where Draco grabbed another mug and set about making tea for the two of them. 

From the times that Draco had been invited to group gatherings that didn’t involve alcohol - which was very rare indeed - and had actually accepted, he knew that Luna drank chamomile tea with more milk than the usual splash, and a drizzle of honey. The first time Luna had requested milk in her chamomile, Draco had balked. She had just sniggered and offered him a taste. 

Draco remembers that at the time he had felt uncomfortable and sat back in his seat in Potter’s kitchen, straightening his tie and politely declined.

But Luna, with her wind chime laugh had insisted, passing him the mug which he was forced to take before it dropped. He had been careful to touch his lips to the opposite place Luna had touched hers, and sipped. And instantly felt like he had been wrapped up in a warm hug. 

Luna Lovegood was serene. There was no other word for it. 

She was neatly tucked away in a corner table waiting for Draco to bring back their tea, setting down the butterbeer fudge and calmly taking in her surroundings. 

She didn’t fidget, didn’t make a single move that lacked purpose. And it unnerved Draco to no end, which made him uncomfortable to admit. Put on guard by a beautiful girl and her completely non-threatening behaviour. Brilliant, Draco was clearly going mad - positively balmy. 

Placing her mug in front of her, Draco sat in front of her, back straight and eyebrows in his hairline. 

“Lovegood, not that this isn’t pleasant, but what are you doing here exactly?” 

Luna didn’t even have the decency to shift uncomfortably in her seat. Her lips pulled into a shy smile and she pushed some fudge towards him. 

“Rolf needed me to access some ministry files to aid in our research. I thought you might enjoy a break from your work, you were concentrating very hard.” Reaching forward Luna’s fingertip whispered against the crease in his brows. “Like that, your brows go all crinkly when you’re thinking.” 

Malfoy gave a small grimace and gently swatted her hand away from where it was resting by his face. 

“Yes, well, Potter and Weaselbee both work at the ministry too.” Keeping a firm mask of indifference on his face, Draco tried to understand the situation. 

“I saw Ron for tea last week, and Harry and I went for lunch earlier in the week.How is work going? You seemed to be enjoying it.” Draco simply didn’t understand how he ended up here, sitting across from Luna who was leaning towards him with a cup of tea, clearly invested in his life and happiness. “Draco, you shouldn’t worry so. It’s normal for _friends_ to catch up for a cup of tea.” 

Friends?

_Friends_. 

Was that what they were? Draco could barely wrap his head around the prospect that he would call Potter a friend, he couldn’t even use his first name! But Luna made it easy to think the word fried without shriveling up. 

Maybe this is where he starts. Maybe he is a friend. 

Maybe he _could_ be Granger’s friend after all. 

Start somewhere small.

Maybe he could be Hermione’s friend. 

He _wanted_ to be _Hermione’s_ friend. 


	2. Reaching

Hermione Jean Granger was the smartest witch of her age. 

So why, pray tell, was she lying here sexually frustrated? She had been so close to completion. She had been just at the edge of falling over the cliff into the abyss of pleasure, and his rotten rodent face had popped into her mind. 

She had been so confused her hands had slipped out of her underwear and she had lay there for a beat trying to understand. 

There had only been a few men she had thought about as Hermione had touched herself. 

Gilderoy Lockhart. 

Cedric Diggory. 

Remus Lupin. 

And then the god forsaken Draco Malfoy. 

The first time Hermione had thought of Draco she had been 16. And she had felt so confused and dirty afterwards. To have thought of a man who degraded and scolded her and treated her sub-human, to have finally been pushed over the peak thinking of his hands, the cat-eye marbles of his rounded knuckles, how they would feel buried inside of her while he sneered at her, telling her how filthy she was. How could she find pleasure in a man like that? 

But she had, and she continued to. 

Until the crescendo of the war came unravelling and they stood divided. 

And she had thought she knew the man he was to become. 

Instead, the end of the war saw a new man. An accountable man of responsibility and a humbleness that was still wrapped up in arrogance that was so purely Malfoy. God, she hated him. 

With his dress shirts pressed taut against his too tight chest, his too broad shoulders. 

With his alcohol warm breath traveling across her face and at her neck, making her want to come on the spot as she tried not to squirm in her seat. 

With his too-large hand pressed to the small of her back as he wrapped his scarf around her neck before letting her walk out of the pub. 

They weren’t even truly friends for Godric’s sake! Harry and Ron didn’t carry their own scarves let alone concern themselves with the sniffle she might catch. 

But there was Draco Lucius Malfoy, always so in control. Hermione felt her thighs squeeze together and her stomach drop. 

Not in control - controlling, Hermione tried to tell herself. But there was no bite to it. 

Mindlessly she rolled her pebbled nipple between her finger and thumb, gently tugging as she thought of Draco’s hands instead. 

He was so confusing. So confusing and tiresome. The least he could do is let her use his memory to drain her body and lay there with a bone-deep exhaustion absolutely satiated. 

She wondered if he would say please and thank you from between her legs. 

She wondered if he would skip requests and offer only demands. 

And Hermione Jean Granger let herself fall as she came with a deep moan that was buried somewhere in her chest as her throat tightened around his name, not willing to let it fall past her lips. 

Hermione knew the exhaustion of responsibility, of having her name slandered in the papers. And so, she had respectfully declined a potion under the minister of magic in the hope’s of training her up for the position herself someday. She could do more good when her time was her own instead of her time belonging to the masses. 

And she hated the thought of the muggles being overlooked throughout the wizarding world. 

She wanted to offer them protection, knowledge, preparation. She wanted them to know that they were as important and their safety was paramount. 

So Hermione Granger kept one foot in the muggle world and another in the wizarding world. Straddling the line like a balancing act as a liaison between the government and the ministry of magic. 

And she had learnt very quickly that there were plenty of men of sound mind in her workplace who appreciated such a smart and driven woman, telling her that it was such an elating difference to find an ambitious woman with legs like hers. 

Turns out Hermione Granger liked men very, very much. 

Turns out she liked orgasms and sex even more. 

When she came her mind went blank, she stopped thinking, and she finally understood what a quiet mind was. 

She was never so thankful for silencing charms as she had been as she let herself become acquainted with the idea of her body and another’s and the pleasure that it could cause while she had a roommate. 

It was bad enough trying to explain to Luna what her muggle sex toys were was a conversation she never wanted to repeat. Luna Lovegood was the picture of innocence and hearing some of the things she had said out of Luna’s mouth was almost like a disconnect.

But if Luna heard her and asked her how she achieved such a powerful and mind-numbing orgasm she might actually die. A slow and painful death. 

Turns out she just needed her fingers and an overactive imagination that appreciated Draco Malfoy. 

And finally she could relax. 

\----------------------

“I’m not a good man, Granger.” That’s what he had said to her, and she hadn’t been sure if it was a threat or a promise. 

Anyone could see the difference in Malfoy, he was still arrogant and sarcastic but he wasn’t cruel. And even then, Hermione had to wonder how much of him had actually changed at all, because it seemed like he had always been the man he is now with his friends. But this time, he was supported and cared for and not manipulated with fear, and not at war with differing sides of a battle. 

So yes, this might be the first Hermione was seeing of the true Draco Malfoy, but she didn’t think it was an act. This was the real Draco Malfoy that she could see laughing and drinking tea with Luna Lovegood, listening intently as she spoke and only occasionally fighting back a grimace. 

And it left Hermione one step closer to wanting to understand him. 

In truth, Hermione Granger had thought she had understood, if not known, the person Draco was before. She pitied him, once she could look beyond the hurt and humiliation he consistently caused her, and she wouldn’t wish the choices he had been forced to make on anyone. But the person Hermione had been when she was younger had been a target for his malicious intentions, and he had genuinely believed himself superior from the poisoning in his mind. But he had still chosen to believe it instead of pushing back or questioning what he was told. How could that be possible, a boy in great pursuit of knowledge without questioning the doctrines ingrained in him. 

She wondered, during the war, when he had lied for them, when he had seen the blood she shed and saw it hadn’t been dirtied, was that when he truly fell into uncertainty for his path?

No. 

It had been long before, because he had been confronted with the reality of his path. Draco Malfoy wasn’t a true sadist. He couldn’t stand idly by and listen to the torture of others. Maybe he had once believed they weren’t worthy of carrying his magic, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see them burn. 

He just hadn’t wanted to share the only ru thing of greatness he believed he was owed. 

Maybe he wasn’t a kind man, he didn’t put stock in considering others at every moment. 

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t good. 

He was trying to redeem himself, trying to make up for his actions. Wasn’t he? Wouldn’t that be something a good man would do? Or was he just forced to because of his opportunistic streak? She really didn’t know the answer. But in her opinion, it took strength to stand apart from everything he had once believed and admit he had been wrong, confused, lost. Especially to do so at such a pivotal moment in the face of everything you feared. 

Maybe trying was all anyone could do. Maybe she should truly offer him a chance. 

Yes, a chance was all anyone could ask for. That was where she needed to start. 

She pushed her chair out from the kitchen table and it scraped against the hardwood floors of the renovated cottage she and Luna called home. 

She was half-way done with her Earl Grey cup of tea, and fully gone on thoughts on Malfoy.

She sat back down. 

She wouldn’t even know where to start looking for him. It was early on a Sunday morning, if he was awake he’d probably be at his flat. She could always floo him? Unless he was with a woman, or a man, and was caught unaware. 

No, that wouldn’t do. 

Hermione went to her desk to fetch parchment and a quill, writing a quick letter inviting him to brunch. 

They could be friends. Friends went to brunch, right? All was fine. 

But no, the thought of sitting across from him for a couple of hours just the two of them set her on edge, she wasn’t sure that she was ready for that. 

She ran her hand over her left arm subconsciously, nibbling on her bottom lip as she did so. 

It just wouldn’t do. 

Where did they even begin to cross bridges from a distance so deep and formidable between them? 

\-----------

In the end, she started with a hello so quiet it got stuck in her throat, and she had to clear it before she tried to repeat it with a soft smile as she came across Draco waiting for an elevator for work. 

He was beautiful. She remembers seeing him for the first time when they were children and feeling almost shy in the face of someone who she could only describe as an angel, but his sneer was more than skin deep, and he had looked down at her despite being small for his age. 

That soon changed, Draco Malfoy skyrocketed into a lanky string bean, but confronted now by the broad shoulders of the current Draco, she wondered if that was due to lack of appetite caused by stress than his usual physical disposition. 

And now, he was well-kept and roguishly groomed with his barely there 5 o’clock shadow, with a beautiful black suit that fit him so well it made Hermione’s knees weak to make direct eye contact with his defined chest underneath his shirt. God he was a study of contrasts. Pale skin against the good-quality of his all black suit. 

He was delectable. 

Hermione was almost embarrassed when Draco Malfoy cleared his throat in turn with a lopsided smirk that very tellingly let Hermione know he had noticed her roaming eyes. 

He reached up and placed his hand on the elevator door to keep it open for her. 

“Ladies, first, Granger.” Hermione’s pride meant she stormed past his eyes dancing with mirth and concealed amusement with her nose in the air. 

But once they were both comfortably on the elevator she murmured a quiet thank you that had Malfoy’s shoulders tense for a quick moment before relaxing, as if caught off guard by the lack of sourness in her tone that made Hermione roll her eyes with a huff. 

She hadn’t been so intolerably impolite to him over the recent years had she?

She hadn’t gone out of her way to make conversation and hadn’t engaged with him in her personal life the same way that Harry and, by extension, Ron had. But she was never uncivil. 

But, even if she had been, it would serve him right! She had gone through years of torment directly at his hands. 

A voice in the back of her mind reprimanded her gently, ‘that had been when you were children, Hermione.’ Not now, not when they were both fully grown adults, and he had been sarcastic and acebric but he had never targeted her or bullied her or even left her feeling intimidated. She had let herself be intimidated by his presence alone, but that was through no fault of his own, well, except for their mutual history. But his current actions did not give credence to the boy he had been before. 

She saw Malfoy move towards the opening door, and didn’t want to miss her chance. 

Calling out somewhat louder than she had intended, Hermione told Malfoy to have a good day at work before rapidly pressing on the button to make the doors close as multiple members of staff turned to look at her, including Malfoy with a raised eyebrow and an almost confused grin. 

“Thanks, Granger.”

Turns out, the elevator epiphanies had led her to one conclusion. 

She might owe Malfoy an apology, and a third chance if he’d let her. Or at least a do-over of their second chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure a lot of you who have come to seek shelter in Fanfic can understand depressive episodes - So, I am so sorry! But this one knocked me down for a bit. But we're back with a little bit more content for your twisted hearts, Lovers. 
> 
> Another Sunday, another day of the wicked. 
> 
> Please keep in mind this is us having a bit of fun and getting into the swing of things, and we love feedback! We don't pretend to know what we're doing, we're just making it up as we go along. 
> 
> Have a great week! xx


	3. Grasping

Pansy Penelope Parkinson was nothing if not a force to be reckoned with and a woman that made you fall to your knees. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and usually got it. 

But Ronald Bilius Weasley was not making it easy. He shook off her carefully thought out touches to his bicep with confused eyes and furrowed brows, side stepped her when she tried to ‘fall’ into him after “one wine too many! Oops!”. And when she laughed a little too loudly at his jokes he seemed more perplexed than encouraged. 

Pansy knew what Hermione had said, that he had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. But surely he wasn’t that obtuse to her attentions, surely this was his way of gently hinting at his complete and utter disinterest. 

But Pansy knew men, well, she liked to think she knew men, but Ron was teaching her that she still had a thing or two to learn. Any other man, despite his interests, would have taken her to bed as she was very clearly offering and shown her a good time, once, twice, maybe lucky number three if she played her cards right. 

So where did Ron get off confusing her with his mind games. 

She knew he desired her, the way his eyes trailed over her in a hot ginger haze spoke volumes to that. So why was he holding himself back? 

She had to know. 

Surely it wasn’t because of Granger. She had been witness to them more than once and she hadn’t been able to wheedle at anything but deep friendly affections. No, this wasn’t a man whose heart belonged to another, this was a man scared of his own heart. 

Walking between the racks of her wine cellar in a silky playsuit, Pansy trailed her fingers over wines that she had learnt to pronounce before other kids knew their own name. 

She was a well trained pure-blood. And what did that get her? An empty home and a cavity in her chest. 

Champagne was to impress and dazzle, no that simply wouldn’t do. 

She didn’t want sloppy Gin kisses from him either, she wanted the beginning of a romance. 

Red wine it was, cliche and seductive and tried and tested. A true testament to the prowess of Aphrodite. 

She tapped her manicured nails against the glass of the bottles and bit her lip. It was unlikely that Ron knew much about wine whatsoever, she had only ever seen him drink butterbeer and on the VERY rare occasion firewhiskey. 

He wasn’t like a Draco or a Theo who would recline with a wine glass in hand and savour the notes on their palette. 

Ron was not the man that she had been bred for, and in truth, that beguiled her more than anything. She wanted him unpredictable and, she thought to herself, maybe she wanted him stable too. Ron offered her both and he was a good man, and she imagined her life in a marriage of true genuine affection rather than one of business and convenience and she felt her belly warm. 

But she wanted to share something with him, something more than just a glass of red and her bed (or kitchen counters, or the rug in front of the fire, or against her double french doors. Really, the possibilities were endless, she just simply wanted more.) 

She could remember the way his eyes had locked on hers and hadn’t once strayed as she had told him about her day - which he had asked about. And he had actively listened, and had been enthusiastic about the work she was doing in events, and had asked questions about her aesthetics and her upcoming charity auction she had helped prepare. 

She had known her tits looked marvelous against the sheer polka-dot balloon sleeve blouse she had worn, and she had trailed a delicate hand across her chest carelessly, waiting for his eyes to dip and for his interest in the conversation to wane down to his sexual appetite. 

And my, what an appetite she knew he had. 

If he feasted on her with half the enthusiasm he shared for meals she would be one happily satiated lady. 

But his eyes had held steadfast and true, and he had laughed at her humour and blushed, mumbling a quiet “Pans” when she had teased him or said something bordering on the outskirts of his sensible and conservative nature. 

His eyes were so kind, and imploring in a way that made Pansy want to cup his cheek and tell him sweet and dopey he was and how loved up and nauseatingly happy she wanted to make him. 

She knew that he wouldn’t have used her body to pacify his ego, she had given him ample opportunity to, and he had point blank refused to even acknowledge her attempts to take him home, misguided as he was. 

But she would be lying if she said she wasn’t insecure that maybe she wasn’t enough of a catch to allow him all the glory he was entitled to. The glory he would have felt at having the Hermione Granger as his trophy, maybe she paled in comparison. Maybe she was the consolation prize. 

Pansy knew she was beautiful, in a dangerous sort of way. But she also knew that she was first and foremost a snake with a forked tongue as far as the public was aware. 

She wasn’t changing lives and important in the same way that Hermione was, and Pansy wanted to roll her eyes at herself and scold herself for the decidedly un-feminist thoughts of comparison against a woman who she was conditioned to see as competition for a man’s attentions. 

Pansy adored Hermione, and appreciated her company in a way that was uncommon for Pany, that she hadn’t felt in years. Hermione was a fast companion and confidant. And Pansy knew that Hermione saw Pansy’s value as a woman, a witch, and a human. 

So why did she have to regress so quickly to these feelings of ineptitude of feeling less than? 

And why did she have to project those insecurities and past behaviours onto a man who had been nothing but kind and forgiving, if not a little insensitive at times. 

Not everyone was seeking glory. 

And even if they were, she should be enough for them. 

Was she enough for them?

And the truth of the matter was she didn’t want Ron as a plaything, she wanted to see if she could be good like him, stable and able and the center of his family. 

She wanted a family. 

God knew she didn’t know what type of mother she would be, her own mother was absent and her nannies were the very best tutors a girl could have - but she had not been nurtured. But she thought Ronald could show her what it meant.

For only half a second Pansy doubted her decision to speak to Hermione about it, about a boy that Hermione herself had once felt something for. But it was only for the breadth of a moment before Pansy pinched herself with perfectly manicured nails and held her head up high. 

Hermione would want to help, and she would never laugh at Pansy for the things that she felt and for wanting to be good and kind and more. Not just for a man, but for herself. 

When Hermione had drunkenly confessed to Pansy at the beginnings of their friendship that she wished she could be taken seriously as a woman as well as an academic, that she wished she didn't have to choose. Pansy had simply laughed and leaned a little closer with a cat who got the canary grin and whispered ‘who says you have to choose?’. 

And that had been that. 

Hermione had let Pansy treat her to La Perla and Honey Birdette and had only blushed a hundred times instead of a thousand when Pansy had charged her into a muggle sex shop and paid for a basket overflowing with vibrators and dildos and tittilating oil that Pansy had sworn would drive her mad if she dabbed it onto her nipples. 

Pansy had held Hermione’s hands in her own and tied them up in ropes and satin and taught her how to make a man listen in bed and beg on his knees. 

Pansy taught Hermione how to be strong in her own self worth and sex. 

She taught her what it meant to have a girlfriend who wouldn’t judge her for her brain, or for her body, who didn’t expect her to always be the smart one, who didn’t mind when she was always the smart one, who didn’t mind when she just wanted a pedicure or a glass of wine or a sleepover with pizza. 

She was a true girlfriend, and if Hermione wasn’t an adult who felt silly for saying it, she would call Pansy her best (girl)friend. 

She wasn’t competing with Pansy, and Pansy had never once made her feel less than her, or less of a woman, or out of place. 

Pansy was sarcastic and provocative but she wasn’t unkind, and she was intelligent in a way that was cunning and cutting and not in your face, unlike Hermione’s own. 

That was that then. 

She grabbed a bottle of Rose, Prosecco and a Bordeaux and walked into the floo, calling out the address of Hermione and Luna’s charming cottage. 

When Hermione was younger- around the time her parents would humour her by answering all her questionable questions – she would read book after book about princesses and princes living in remote castles and enjoying their happily ever afters. After finding out she was a witch the idea of fairy-tale didn’t remotely fascinate her in the slightest, she understood now the horrors of all words and didn’t feel accustomed to the trends of romanticising horrific situations. She didn’t want to be a storytale witch that gave children nightmares; the witch who was always left alone and ugly and hurting. 

As she got older she also learnt most of these fairy tales were not truly happily ever after’s but twisted tales of misogyny and their subordinated victims.  
But none-the-less she still sat in her study reading a young adult novel about vampires. She sighed and flicked forward through the book, the pale cream pages staring back at her in trepidation even as her heart was only half in the book she was reading.

She couldn’t phantom why she was so obsessed with the idea of being thrown against an elevator wall with a hand held to her throat, as she begged him for more and surrendered entirely to him, because in reality this was not something that would be deemed ordinary. Yet she felt the heat in her stomach bloom at the thought, coursing white hot and hissing for her touch. She hated herself for conforming to the romanticised idea of a male dominating her that she, like so many others, swooned at the thought of being treated less than by the man that was supposed to love and treasure them. To respect them.   
But maybe it was that respect and that treasure that made her want to give in to a man she trusted entirely to care more about her mental state in the after-passion than his own physical pleasure. That he would stop if she asked and she would not feel unsafe in his hands. His hands wouldn’t be greedy for ehr flesh - instead tender in her boundaries.

A door closed from down the hallway and Hermione closed her book slowly, placing in on the desk beside her.

“Not another one of your shitty muggle books, Hermione,” Pansy beamed as she strutted through the door of their study throwing herself onto the couch next to Hermione and knocking bottles of wine against her thigh. 

“Yeah well at least I don’t dabble in muggle porn, I have standards.”

Pansy gave her an incredulous look as she faked the frown that came to her face.  
“I will have you know Granger, there is no better pornography than Japanese pornography. It’s an artform.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but allowed the chuckle that came to her lips out.

“Before you insulted my hobbies, I was going to tell you that I am planning a party. And I was going to invite you, before your cold reception, so I’d start groveling if I was you, witch.” She let the last few syllables roll off her tongue as she looked at Hermione with a gleam in her eye.

“And the occasion is?”

“Lunas birthday of course!” Pansy clapped her hands and showed her mouth of gleaming pearls to Hermione in a broad grin that wasn’t the same composed smile that Pansy reserved for the public. It was a real grin, full of teeth and one that pulled her cheeks back and flirted the single dimple she had into a deep grave. 

Hermione knew that Pansy adored Luna in a way that one adored something too good to be true; from a distance and with a fear of ruining it. 

Pansy was fiercely protective of Luna, and while the two were rarely left alone together for long periods, Pansy would snarl and bare her teeth at anyone who dared to mock Luna or abuse her kindness and sincerity. 

It was as if Pansy was scared that Luna was as beautiful and as fleeting as a cherry blossom, and that hands that were too rough would knock the blossoms to the busy floor of the pub. 

She thought Luna was the type of precious that should be celebrated. 

And with her bee sting lips Pansy could be the Bee to Luna’s flower, on constant guard as she hovered around her. 

“No, Pansy. I am setting standards for this gathering! We are not having a repeat of last year, do you understand?” 

Pansy rolled her eyes daintly in the face of Hermione’s scorn. 

“There was barely any damage,” She said, sounding breathy and nonchalant. 

“Barely any damage? You flooded our living room!” Hermione wasn’t sure if she was angry at the memory or about to bark out laughter. 

“The theme was Fire and Ice, Darling, be grateful I didn’t go with my first choice.” 

“Oh, god. I’ll be sorry I asked, what was your first choice?” The question only resulted in Pansy responding with a fiendish smirk and a mischievous glint to her eyes. 

“These violent delights have violent ends.” This time, Hermione truly did laugh, clutching her stomach at the self-satisfied grin that Pansy shot at her. 

“You’re incorrigible.” 

“Speaking of incorrigible…” For the first time in their friendship Hermione saw the flicker of nerves in her friends eyes and she wanted to cup her cheeks in her hands and whisper that she could tell her anything. And she knew without a doubt that this was about Ron. She had seen the way her friend had started looking at the Weasley, the way it had gone from playful ribbing and trying to make him uncomfortable with her promiscuity to the yearning eyes and delicate touches that weren’t rehearsed. 

Hermione made sure to catch Pansy’s eyes and gave her a gentle smile, reminding her that it was just them and Hermione couldn’t judge her - only love and support her, reminding her of her strength and that she could have Hermione’s too if she needed it. 

“Tell me, Pansy.” 

Hermione watched as her brave darling Slytherin pushed her shoulders back and held her head high. 

“It’s about Ron.”   
And just like that, Hermione breathed out a smile and beamed at Pansy. 

“We’re going to need those drinks for this.” Hermione stood up, pressing a caring kiss to Pansy’s forehead and pulled out the coupes that Pansy had gifted her so that she could feel ‘boujee in even then quaintest of cottages’. 

When she returned with two glasses filled to the brim she looked over at Pansy and grinned. 

“Tell me everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you guys like us to include playlists of what we're listening to as we write/playlists for the chapter?
> 
> Any opinions would be greatly appreciated! 
> 
> Have a great week, my loves.


	4. Holding

Luna’s birthday party preparations were exactly how Hermione predicted. Intolerable. Not because of the day, Luna is beyond kind and beyond deserving such a gathering. It was more the fact of having so many people in her house – in her space, made her uneasy.  
She cleared up her bookshelf eying the books slotting into place with the flick of her wand. It was simple enough, but Hermione decided now was the best time to reorganise her bedroom. She could hear Theodore’s laugh from down the hall so it was without a doubt that her other friends had joined him in the cottage.  
Luna went out of her way and invited practically everyone she knew, not an issue really but Luna had many acquaintances and knowing her kind nature the 80 year old couple that live on the plot of land across from theirs would have most likely been invited. She glanced at herself quickly in the mirror and made a quick attempt to fix her scattered hair, doing her best to avoid the dark circles that protruded under her eyes. 

The door to her bedroom swung open and through the reflection in her mirror she could see the unwelcoming flecks of blonde hair.

“Lovegood sent me to get you,” She ignored him and walked towards her bed picking up her wand and waving it quickly in the air. The pile of magazines near her bed suddenly flew into the air and rearranged themselves on her bedside table. 

“Didn’t really pick you to be a reader Granger,” The sincerity in his voice made her head whip in his direction. He smirked and she did her best to ignore the way her stomach flipped in response.  
“So funny,” She kept her face blank but did her best to ignore how his head tilted to the side like he was expecting a more witty remark from her. To be fair Hermione was quite surprised with her retort but she decided to put it down to her mood, she really wasn’t in the right form to socialise tonight.  
Draco narrowed his eyes slightly tilting his head as he watched her from the doorway; suddenly she felt very self-conscious as his grey eyes scanned her face in concern. Was it genuine concern? She wanted to believe so but this was Malfoy she was dealing with.  
“ I was thinking about Hogwarts on my way over here, well in the fleeting moment it took for me to get here – and well did you ever consider or did the thought ever occur to you that we could have been friends if things were different?” Draco didn’t look her in the eye as he glanced at the books on her shelf, she could sense he was rather sincere when asking but she also had that sense of needing to protect her soft side so the thought of being honest was not appealing to her in the slightest.

“From the first moment I met you I disliked you.” She said her voice stern, he peaked over his shoulder and shrugged as if he expected that answer.

“That’s not what I meant, of course you hated me but what I’m trying to say is if we put aside the houses our backgrounds and if you and I met without knowing anything about each other,” he hesitated before finally turning to face her, “do you think we would have been friends?”

She never thought of it like that, the idea of being so unaware of each other in an environment where things could have been different. Could they have been friends? Hermione had to admit to herself that she did like, almost admire, some aspects of Draco’s personality but his attitude towards some aspects in life turned her off the kind side of him. So if she met him and was unaware of his dark side would she be his friend?

“Yes.” She said.

His eyebrows quirked up in surprise; “Interesting,” he mumbled, turning back to her collection of books.

“Do you think we could have been friends?” She murmured suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He didn’t turn back to face her but dropped to his knees looking closely at her bookshelf.

He pulled a book from the bottom of the shelf before turning towards the door.

“I think we would have been a lot more than friends,” He smirked his eyes skimming the back of the book in his hands, “if things had been different.”

“Mind if I borrow this?” She shook her head lost for words.

“Thanks Granger,” He echoed as he made his way out the door and down the hall. She stared after him before leaping to her feet to glance at the empty spot on her bookshelf where a muggle novel had once sat. She glanced towards the direction he disappeared to in curiosity, why was he suddenly interested in Muggle literature.

True to her word Pansy didn’t go too outrageous for the party, it was almost mild by her standards. If opulent extravagance could be considered mild by anyone’s standards. 

When Hermione had suggested a valentine’s day theme to her, thinking it would help Ron see her in a romantic light, Pansy had scoffed before lightly considering it. 

Not Valentine’s, she had said. It was too obvious, too cliched. But the mother of love and beauty, she could work with that. 

So when Hermione stepped onto the ground floor of her cottage, it was to find the illusion of a beach tide breaking across her feet, with the feeling of sand that glittered with diamonds between her toes. The walls were lined with colosseum inspired columns with strands of pearls and giggling cherubs hanging between them. 

At the front of the room was a large open clam shell, gold-rimmed like Hermione’s coupe glasses, and with a near perfect replica of Luna in the center of it, wrapped in marble like the veiled vestal. There was a champagne tower with fairyfloss clouds surrounding the peak, and it made Hermione’s heart and teeth ache with how sweet it was to see. 

Witches dressed as ocean sirens walked the room in pearls and a nude illusion of crystals and seaweed, carrying large silver trays laden with cornucopia styled treats. 

Pansy had outdone herself, with a pile of gifts from the pureblood sacred 28 cascading in the corner of the room. 

Luna was in the center of the room spinning on her tippy-toes and looking around the room in absolute awe, as if she wasn’t sure she could take everything in. 

It was a dreamland oceanscape, and even the wind blowing from seemingly nowhere was sea-salt fresh. 

Pansy herself looked as if she was part of the scene, dripping in a black pearl flapper-style dress with her eyes smoky and her cheeks perfectly blushed. 

Pansy stood at Ron’s elbow, pointing out all the dishes she had selected and whispering to him as he smiled gently, his eyes dancing across her face. She clinked her glass against his and leaned in close to him, a pointer finger guiding his chin so that his eyes were on hers as they took a simultaneous sip. 

Hermione heard Pansy laugh as she told him they couldn’t test luck with 7 years bad sex, as Ron blushed as bright as his hair and mumbled an answer. Hermione could see that Ron was attendant to Pansy’s needs, as he reached out to take her glass before she could carelessly tip it over in her haste to make sure the swans were in position. Even if he didn’t seem ready to face his interest in the cunning witch, he couldn’t help the way he responded to her - leaning into her and keeping his eyes carefully trained on her own. She saw the way he could be almost cold with her too, when he was in his own head and didn’t seem prepared to take her affections seriously, when he watched how she spun her charm like sugar and left her victims high strung and spinning out. 

She didn’t blame Ron for his aloofness, but she also knew that Pansy wasn’t playing him. She had said as much when she had finally been able to face Hermione and put into words what she wanted. 

“He better treat her better than he treated you.” Hermione started at the voice in her ear, and the conviction with which it spoke. 

“Ron was good to me, we just weren’t right for the other. You can love someone with all your heart, but sometimes love isn’t enough to make a relationship work.” Hermione didn’t even look at him as she spoke, happy to watch Pansy and Ron glance at each other from the corner of their eye when they thought the other wasn’t looking. 

Draco Malfoy stepped in front of her so that she was forced to acknowledge his presence with her eyes, and he searched her face with a small frown. 

“Do you truly believe that, Granger?” Hermione didn’t even bother verbalising her reply, simply raised her brow and looked unwaveringly into his own sharp gaze. “So what is the foundation of a relationship?”

“Communication, determination to work for the relationship, it isn’t always easy, but you need to want it. Honesty.” Hermione read off her list without a moment to pause and consider it. 

“Christ, Granger, the foundation of your relationship sounds like a Hufflepuff.” Malfoy looked reminiscent of his mother before she had a weight lifted from her chest, his mouth curved around a sour lemon. 

It was almost enough to make her smile. 

“I do favour the ability to challenge each other, and delightful discussion,” Hermione conceded, her head tilting in consideration. She watched Malfoy’s eyes widen comically. 

“Was that a snide comment from The Golden One?” Hermione made sure to aim her elbow for his side as she told him to hush. After a quiet snicker Draco looked over her and his lips tipped down for just a moment. 

“Love will wax and wane like the moon. You need something more solid, consistent.” 

Hermione blinked a few times as her mind thought over his statement. She almost breathed out a surprised yes, happy and warmingly shocked that he thought something similar to her.  
Slim arms wrapped themselves around Hermione’s midsection, startling her before she breathed deeply on gardenia and pear. 

“Thank you, Hermione! This has been the most amazing birthday party ever.” When Hermione turned around to take in her friend she saw that Pansy and Ginny, with some help from Theo, had bewitched her moonlight drunk hair to dance with the wind of the ocean breeze and had woven large magnolias into her thick fishtail braid. 

“Oh, Luna. You’re beautiful.” She squeezed tighter onto Luna and pressed an almost motherly kiss to her forehead. 

“Beautiful enough that Theo won’t take one of the nymphs home? Or only beautiful enough that he’ll pretend not to be looking at them?” From any other girl, Hermione would almost think it was insecurity speaking. But Luna was smiling and her eyes were all sparkles. 

Hermione heard Malfoy choke on his drink and try to pass it off as a cough, a curled fist larger than both of hers put together thumping against his chest. 

She shared an amused smirk with Luna as Malfoy carried on, pretending he hadn’t heard the conversation. 

“You’re his first choice, no one can mistake the way he looks at you.” 

And she wasn’t wrong, only an idiot could miss the way Theo’s gaze looked for her in a crowd, the way he smiled wider when she was there. She wasn’t sure if Theo’s interest went beyond getting Luna into bed, and she would have been concerned for any other girl who went heart first into relationships. But Luna had forever had a very healthy relationship with sex and her own body, and was comfortable enough with herself that she didn’t need a relationship to validate her worth to someone else. 

“Maybe it can be my birthday present to myself.” Luna’s head tilted to the side, as if weighed down by her braid as she considered Theo who was stood with Pansy, who had pulled herself away from Ron. Theo’s eyes were darting to Luna and back, and from the other side of the room Ron’s eyes were seeking out Pansy again and again and again. 

Hermione snorted both at the ridiculousness of the situation but also at the sheer oblivious powers of her friends. 

Hermione leaned in close, trying to block Malfoy out of the conversation to the best of her abilities, whispering in Luna’s ear. “If you ask nicely maybe he’ll even wrap himself up with a bow.” 

Luna’s answering smile was almost terrifying, and Malfoy’s amused and disgusted expression let Hermione know he had heard what she had said, and that part of him wished that he hadn’t. Luna looked over and seemed to only just see Malfoy there. 

Her smile quickly transformed from deviant to endearing and she stepped away from Hermione to wrap her arms around him. 

“Thank you so much for coming, Draco!” Hermione watched him hesitate for one moment, two moments, three moments before he seemed to make up his mind. 

His arms came up to wrap tightly around Luna, his arms dwarfing the waif of a woman. She watched his eyes close briefly and she couldn’t help but wonder when he had last been held for the simple act of being him and being there. 

She wondered if he was a man starved for touch. 

“Happy birthday, darling girl.” 

Luna walked back over to Theo, resting her head on his shoulder and whispering in his ear. Hermione watched Theo’s eyes widen and he nodded his head almost aggressively. 

Whatever Luna had said, Theo was quick to agree. 

Hermione turned to him with questioning eyes. 

“We’re friends.” He ducked his head down and wouldn’t meet Hermione’s scrutinising eyes. 

“She’s a good person, Malfoy. Don’t abuse that.” Malfoy’s head snapped up to meet her gaze face on and he looked ready to spit fire. 

“I have changed, Granger. Potter sees it, Luna sees it, even god damn Weasley sees it. Why won’t you.” 

Hermione shifted back and forth and flinched at his tone. 

“I can see it, Malfoy. I’m protective of my friends. It wasn’t a narrative of my opinion of you.” She saw his eyes dull and he shook his head, one large hand reaching up to rest on the back of his neck. 

“Your friends. But not me. I’m not your friend.” She hesitated, for one moment before she reached for him, a hand resting lightly on his shoulder. 

“We could be, we have so much history that it’s hard sometimes. But I want to be. You’ve changed. Anyone could see that. Myself included.” 

Her hand squeezed his shoulder and then began the to unconsciously trail down his bicep and then his forearm until she was hooking her finger around his pinky. Her eyes watching the trail of her fingers, and her breath coming out shallow. 

Malfoy made an almost, but not quite, groan that had her removing her hand and looking up, up, up, into his eyes. 

He looked hungry for her. And she almost wanted to give herself up to him and his sharp teeth. 

Smartest witch of her generation. Christ, then why did she feel so dumb beneath his gaze. 

Malfoy cleared his throat awkwardly next to Hermione. “Theo’s known to be loud, outrageously so. He’s also been known to forget a silencing charm after a few drinks, which Pansy has been more than happy to keep him in abundance of.”

Hermione grimaced as she considered the long night ahead before she caught the cheshire cat grin on Malfoy’s face, almost unnerving in its rarity. 

“I’m more than happy to offer you sanctuary from sexile, Granger.” His eyes burned a hot trail over her legs that left her almost slick with anticipation. 

“And what makes you think it’d be a good idea, Malfoy?” He considered her for a moment. 

“What makes you think it isn’t?” She couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it, but at the frown on Malfoy’s face she reached out to him, laying her hand against his chest. 

Draco Malfoy had outgrown the slim build he had sported under too much stress and too little food. He had broadened and he stood tall over her, and his hands were large enough to cover her ass near perfectly, and large enough that she would have felt that her breasts weren’t enough. Not that she had considered this at length. Not that she had considered his length, but, well, how could you not. Was it in proportion to the size of his build? She had heard the rumours of how he was so large he could barely bury himself into a woman. She had slipped her own fingers in as deep as they could reach and had been left shaking thinking about how full she would feel with him. 

And for a moment, she truly let herself consider the offer. 

“We could forget the past, Granger, we could start again. This could be our chance to be something more.” 

“Has Pansy slipped a love potion in that champagne waterfall?” This made Malfoy tip his head back so that she could see the movements of his throat as he laughed.  
“I’m not offering you love, Granger. I’m offering you orgasms.”

She felt the raw heat coiling within her, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as she considered all the ways that he could make her cum. 

“And when you forget the past, Malfoy, who will you pretend that I am?” Her eyes would have been almost cutting if she hadn’t been so heavy lidded with desire. 

“You.” His eyes stayed on hers, and she saw the grey of them almost like molten silver that made her burn for him and her chest compress under this searing desire to be his. And for a moment, he had her. His hand reached out to cup her hand, still on his chest, firmer against him, his free hand reaching down to clasp possessively on her hip, fingers tight but his thumb moving across the skin he had revealed there. . 

“You’re cruel.” She pulled away, leaving him cold and unstable. 

As she stepped away he was back at the party, Potter watching him with calculating eyes and a locked jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines day, lovers!


	5. Daring

The child playing at a man that he used to be was cruel. But the man he was today was not. He knew that. He knew who he was now, and he was still figuring out what he wanted, but he knew that who he was, was not cruel.

He wasn’t a kind man, or a good man, by any stretch of the imagination. He was flawed and selfish and cunning with an ambition that was purely self-serving. But he wasn’t bad, he wasn’t cruel, and he wasn’t the god forsaken word that continued to follow him to this day;  _ Deatheater _ . 

“You’re a fucking idiot.” 

Draco paused but didn’t turn around to face the voice behind him. 

“Eloquent as always, Potter.” He knew that Harry would be able to hear the eye roll that accompanied his words, or at least be able to guess that was what Draco was doing. 

“If you stopped dicking around, and let her know that you cared about her, I could almost support it.” Shock made Draco spin around to look at Harry, leaning against the wall of the cottage, outside where Draco had wandered for some fresh air. “She gives too much, you give too little. Maybe you’d be the balance each other needed.”

Draco cleared his throat but found a spot on the floor that was suddenly really interesting, watching a small ant march across the gravel. “But?” 

“But you don’t know what you want, or you don’t want to want what you know you do. You’re scared, Malfoy. And she’s too good to risk on a chance.” 

Malfoy began to pace, rethinking over Potters words which barely made sense the first time around. Especially after a glass of champagne or two. 

“She’s worth the risk of a chance, Potter. She’s too good for  _ me _ .” He caught Potter’s lips twitching upwards before flicking back into place in a mask of indifference.

“You care about her.” He wasn’t asking it as a question. 

“I don’t know what I feel, Potter, stop psychoanalysing me.” Draco reached up and tried to smooth out his furrowed brow, his mother was always going on about collagen and the impacts of frowning, and leaving him face creams by his bed when she popped by for a cup of tea. Harry shrugged and tilted his head. 

“It’s not a party unless there’s someone’s drama to invest myself in. It was my drama for so long, feels nice to be on the other side.” And when he smiled, Draco almost answered in kind. Harry looked younger than he had in school, he was free of the shadow and the weight of a future that was certain to contain death, grief and loss. “For what it’s worth, I think you could be a good man, a great man as well. You’re worth more than you think.” 

And then he walked away, to leave Malfoy to think over the type of man he was. 

He glanced at Hermione in the corner of the garden, her wine glass floating in the air in front of her. Her eyes crinkled as she laughed at some obscure thing Luna said. He shook his head, his thoughts suddenly drifting to her laughing at him like that – happily and without that lace of concern on the corner of her mouth whenever she speaks to him. 

Malfoy knew that he had some good qualities, he was an ambitious man, he was driven, he was intelligent, he was rich, he was devilishly handsome with a rakish streak. He was a bad boy fantasy - if your bad boy fantasy included the weight of a thousand bad decisions and a self hatred festering deep inside the linings of his custom tailored suits. 

But if you took his fortune, if you took away his roguish grin, if you stripped him bare of his name and his title; what was he then?

If he was no longer a Malfoy, simply Draco, then who was he, could he stand on his own?

He wanted to believe that yes, he absolutely could. But when he pondered the question too deeply he found himself floundering with a shadow of doubt. 

It wasn’t likely. 

He used his name like a crutch, and even when he stood accused and under trial he had known his name carried power, and he had stood taller, his spine straighter, with the knowledge that his name which now made him a target for the fight for justice, still provided him a sanctimonious of protection. 

He was first, and foremost, his name. 

And for that, a sliver of resentment bloomed in his chest, and it struck like a blade, and the regret for all of his life choices bled through his shirt as blood from the open, festering wound that his own mind had created. 

When Draco was alone in his unit that evening, he found himself pacing, drinking Beetle Berry Whiskey in deep gulps as if he was starved, and with the frustration coursing through his veins he felt like that same scared desperate boy he had once been. 

The panic was making his hands shake, and he was barely able to swallow around the burn of the alcohol, choking on it and forcing it down even as his eyes watered and his chest tightened around the anxiety bubbling there. 

_ Nothing _ . He was  _ Nothing _ . 

He could hear it reverberating through his head, and he felt it shaking his whole body, vibrating thoughts shocking down his spine and he thought he could see different colours blending into his peripheral vision. 

_ Worthless _ . 

If he disappeared who would notice, who would  _ care _ ? 

They’d mourn him for but a moment, and then they’d move on and forget. He was dispensable, even outside of the Dark Lord’s grips he was so easily disposable. 

And it made him sick with rage. 

As he stared at his reflection in the glass he thought back to the pivotal moment when he knew his feelings for Hermione were not hatred, and bordered beyond just lust.

He was in his sixth year when his life became dedicated to causing and walking through utter hell, sure, he was distracted doing the work of the Dark Lord but at times his mind would drift to sadness deep in Hermione’s honeyed whiskey eyes, burning golden under the salted glaze of her tears, making her all the sweeter as she watched Ron and Lavender Brown sloppily dry hump each other in the hallways without a drop of decorum between them, and a free show not worth watching.

He put it down to the fact that he was utterly distracted and the impossible ache of the dark mark made it hard for him to distinguish the thoughts in his head but he couldn’t help being crueler to Weasley.

He would see him in the hallways and purposely crash into him more frequently or he would throw insults at him like it was searing hot fire - brighter than his hair.

But his eyes would always drift to Hermione’s as she watched Ron with pure longing on her face.

He rolled the ice around in his whiskey class and he contemplated his thoughts. His actions always came down to Hermione, his anger towards her friends always began with Hermione’s sad resolve.

He usually fucked some Slytherin witch as a way to relieve the built up tension he was holding inside of him. He would allow himself to bend a girl over the table and imagine Hermione’s face as she came loose underneath him. It was a secret he kept to himself until one late night rendezvous with Pansy had him yelling Hermione's name as he fucked into her. He remembers the smirk Pansy had plastered on her face as she turned around to face him, her hair tousled falling into her face. He remembers the way she gripped his shoulder in reassurance as she told him his secret was safe with her. And from that night onwards they would use each other to ease the tension they both had built up inside them. 

Crystal glass and whiskey met the wallpaper of his study and bounced to the floor in diamonds. It would have been a devastating sight, if only for the fragile beauty of it all and for the man who looked like he could have been an angel if not for the demons dancing in his eyes and the darkness coursing in his veins. 

He staggered back into the wall behind him, his shoes crushing the eggshell glass beneath his soles. When his back hit the wall he fell down it, falling to the floor and cradling himself as his tears glistened in the candlelight. 

This is how an angel dies. 

With lips warmed by alcohol, and skin streaked with salt from the oceans within himself. 

He was moonlight kissed and his eyes were the craters of the moon. He was devastation walking, crying, drinking. 

When Draco woke the next morning, he was in bed. He pressed his palms into the dark craters of his eyes, and groaned a guttural noise that came straight from his gut and was almost like the roar of a lion if he had a bullet in his heart.

When he turned his head to see the freshly brewed coffee, orange juice and hangover draught on his bedside table, Draco knew that his house-elf (fairly employed with rights) had found him the night before. 

Draco wished he was capable of laughing at the scary truth that one of the only consistent sources of affection in his life was from Slip, a creature whose entire species Draco had looked down on as servants to his own needs without a spare thought, as long as he was being served. 

He was the only child, the only  _ heir _ , to the Malfoy fortune and name. He did not want for anything, and every need was met, every whim and desire met with deliverance. He was treated as if he was special just for breathing, just for the name he bore. And he had been raised to believe he was the center of the world, that he was god given and delivered with gilded wings. 

He was raised to believe he was untouchable. 

And that to touch him left your hands covered in diamonds and gold, and that the opportunity to meet his desire was thanks enough for your service. 

In hindsight, he was tragedy destined for redemption. 

When Draco threw his blankets off of him, trying to breathe a little easier, he heard a thump that made him flinch. 

On the floor of his bedroom was a book, the book he had plucked from Granger’s room. 

Now he could imagine her, curled up in her bed with a cup of tea, reading. The frantic way her eyes jump from word to word, as if she was scared the she wouldn't be able to get to them fast enough to truly understand them. Her ears went deaf when she was sucked into the pages, as if her lifeline was pressed between the page, and he hated himself for thinking of her hands, the way they would press to the pages, the way her fingers would dance over her lips before being pressed against the paper. 

He wondered if he could coax a kiss from the pages of her books. 

He wondered if his lips would be able to sense the ghost of her own if he were to inhale the pages - whether he could absorb the goodness of her golden heart, whether her kindness would bleed into him. 

He wanted to devour her, he wanted to consume her. 

He wanted her. 

And when he thought over her body, wrapped in her sheets, resting against her pillows, it wasn’t just his cock that ached, but his head and his chest. 

She was his salvation. 

And he wondered if she would taste of bread and honey, whether she was the promised land that he wanted to shed his horns and grow wings back for. 

He wondered if fallen angels could ever fly again. 

And as his hand found his cock he wondered if he could let her see stars behind her eyes, whether he could make her cry out, whether she could see his name in the constellations. 

She was everything that he was raised to believe he was more than, but each and every turn she astounded him, frustrated him, and challenged his ideals. 

She drove him mad, with her spite and forked tongue and vivacious brain and he never knew, when he had been young and scared and trouble dressed in black, whether he had wanted to take her shoulders and shake her until her thoughts rattled inside of her head so loudly that she couldn’t think - or if the itch to wrap his hands around her throat was more to see her submit to him, to relinquish the power that she held over him  _ to  _ him. He wanted to taste the fear and the desire on her lips, to kiss her deeply and to swallow her laughter as she came; to watch her give herself go so completely to the pleasure, to him. 

If he had the face of an angel she had the bones of one, her very foundation weighed by lady justice. 

He knew he could be a proud man to know that he could be loved by a woman like her, by her alone. Wait -  _ loved _ ? 

By Merlin. He wanted more than just to find himself deep inside of her, he wanted more than to know that their desire could erase the past between them. He didn't want just a fresh start to clear the weight of his name on his own shoulders, and the barbed wires of his own actions and mistakes. They couldn’t be simply forgotten through a kiss, through a desire that made him believe that he was worth something to the golden warrior he knew as his mighty lioness. 

He didn’t want to simply leave his past behind, he wanted to find his future in her eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, Lovers! 
> 
> We are taking requests for one-shots and/or anything you want to see in THIS fic, if you want to see anything in particular! Throw us a prompt and we will do our very best to make you a proud lil bumble bee!
> 
> See you here next week girl wirly chicken twirls! I really hope you're enjoying it so far


	6. Dizzying

Hermione was in her study when Pansy walked in announcing a ‘family holiday’.

“Excuse me?” Hermione peaked over the pile of papers she had floating across the room to finally look at her friend. Pansy sat across the room flicking her wand between two fingers.

“Yes, yes, holiday, so I’m thinking we go to France maybe? We could stay in my old aunt Hilda’s cabin or” She paused her smile turning into a smirk “We could ask Draco if we could stay in his holiday home?” Hermione pursed her lips as she thought of staying in a cramped up cabin with Draco Malfoy. She did not like the way her heart reacted in her chest to the thought. She tried to convince herself it was simply reflux, but to no avail.

“I-,” She hesitated her eyes glued on Pansy’s wand flipping around her petite fingers, “have a lot of work to do so I don’t think I will have the time to go.”

She focused on keeping her voice even, even as her chest shook under the thunderous applause her heart was making. 

“Nonsense Hermione, We do this every year and there is no way you are backing out of this one.”

“But Pansy-“

“If you don’t go I guess I’ll just have to resign myself to telling Draco in graphic detail about how I found you fingers deep in your pussy screaming his name not less than two days ago.” The thoughtful look on Pansy’s face, as she nonchalantly considered sharing the most intimate details of Hermione’s self-pleasure as if she was deciding between meals, made Hermione's stomach queasy.

And that is how Hermione found herself a week later standing around a port key of an old bottle cap, clutching her backpack to her chest as she watched Harry explain the mechanics of the portkey.

She pointedly ignores him as she found herself subconsciously seeking Draco’s appearance. He had yet to arrive and she found herself very acutely aware of his absence.   
“Not to worry my dear friend, your boyfriend will make an appearance when we arrive.” Pansy whispered into her ear and Hermione made a point of ignoring her. She was slightly relieved that she didn’t have to deal with Draco for another few hours.

Port key travel was always Hermione’s least favourite way of travelling. She suggested they obliviate their way to France but Pansy looked utterly horrified at the suggestion stating ‘traveling to the destination is just as equally satisfying as the holiday itself’. Hermione gripped her bag to her waist as she leaned forward and placed a hand next to Harry’s. He gave her a wink before she felt herself being lifted into the air.

When Hermione was younger she would travel to France quite frequently with her parents. She enjoyed it and has very fond memories of those days. She has not however visited such an amazing property before. She stared open mouthed at the mansion in front of her. Old money had a certain expectation for European holiday homes. Rather than a sweet cottage, she found herself gaping up at a manor with manicured lawns and sprawling gardens. It was built of stone, with water features and a long driveway lined with trees that created a tunnel over the road with sunshine blinking between the gaps. 

If she looked up long enough it was almost dizzying, and it almost made her see stars. 

This wasn’t a place for a heartless family, this home spoke of laughter and sunshine and happiness, and it was like a bubble around the estate, that kept you safe and free of pain. 

She wanted to be cocooned in this moment forever. 

This feeling was weightless. 

Ron and Harry had fallen over backwards at the force of the landing, Theo had stumbled ever so slightly but caught himself and tried to brush it off as a mishap, reaching forward to catch Luna as she tripped over her own two feet. 

In deep contrast, Pansy had managed to land with light feet, her hair blowing with the slight breeze, and her eyes catching the liquid gold of the sunshine. 

Hermione, thankfully, had been the first to land so had made her way to her feet before anyone else could take notice of her sprawled out and breathing heavily from the impact of the fall. 

Harry and Ron had been quick to run towards the house, with Luna not far behind, but Ginny was quick to pull ahead and lead the way. 

Her hair burning like fire under the sunshine, and Luna like an angel bathed in liquid silk and stars. They were truly beautiful, and so strong. 

This left Pansy and Hermione to take their time breathing in the air and preparing themselves for the time ahead of them. 

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself tightly, biting her lip and contemplating what would be in store. She had worried about not being able to get away from people when she got confused and her thoughts muddled and she came close to doing something she shouldn’t want to do, but here, there was plenty of room to run. 

She heard Pansy clear her throat delicately, which was so unlike her to appear almost nervous, and yet Hermione had seen more of it recently than she she thought was possible. 

Pansy was fierce and unrivalled in her ability to know her mind and her worth.

“It’s hard for Draco, this estate was one where he was happy and loved. It’s untouched by so much of the war. Just remember he has as many ghosts to face as anyone else.” Pansy still couldn’t meet her eyes. 

Hermione knew that this moment was something true. Pansy rarely gave up her pretense of sarcasm and wit, but when she did she was asking for your kindness and consideration. And she rarely if ever asked Hermione to be gentle with Draco. 

“Probably more ghosts than anyone else.” She reached out and took Pansy’s hand in her own and tugged her in for a hug. Hermione was considered reasonably petite, but where she curved and was slightly fuller, Pansy was the typical French waif, stretched a little taller and thinner, with bones that were sharp and cutting, but she melted into each and every cuddle as if she had lost the resolve to fight the affection. 

When Pansy pulled away it was to shoot her trademark smirk at Hermione. 

“Now, champagne?” 

And the two girls took off laughing under the sunshine, almost as carefree as the bubbles in a champagne flute; the way they should have been before their bones knew tragedy more intimately than should have been possible. 

When the two girls made it into the manor, it was to an almost apprehensive Draco, his hair dishevelled by his own standards, his large and tender hands almost dizzy as he tried to find where they were meant to be, reaching back and forth, clenching and unclenching. 

Hermione pulled the sleeves of her oversized cardigan down in apprehension. 

“I was worried you weren’t going to attend, Parkinson. It would have thrown off the symmetry of this occasion.” As he spoke he brushed his hair back and his nose went into the air with a breath of haughtiness. Hermione had to stifle a chuckle when Pansy turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow and a sombre expression before turning back to Draco.

“Oh? You were worried I wasn’t going to be here? How peculiar, I know that I had constant contact with you and told you explicitly that I would be here.” She gave a small pout and shrug as if she couldn’t imagine why Draco would be unsure of this fact. 

Hermione watched as Malfoy’s jaw locked tight and he gave a stiff nod. 

“Yes, well, do forgive me, I appear to have misplaced that information.” It was only a minute difference, but Hermione swore his whole body relaxed as he turned to her. “Hermione, I’m glad you’re here.” 

And for a breath of a moment, Hermione wondered what it would be like to bathe in his kindness and attention and to know that he was capable of looking upon her with such gentle and disconcerting honest eyes. 

She had always thought of grey as a cold colour. But in that moment his eyes filled her with nothing but warmth - well, warmth and confusion at the way her heart skipped and butterflies flooded her stomach. 

She thought of her favourite scarf that her mother had knitted in grey wool, and the way she had slept with it because it had smelt like her. She thought of the comforting silence of a grey day, and the moment she holds a mug of hot chocolate in her frigid hands. 

She was so off balance by the warmth in his eyes that she hadn’t noticed Pansy make her excuses to leave the two alone that lacked even the hint of subtlety. 

Before she could help it, her tongue was touching her lips as if her mind had fooled her into thinking she could taste the remnants of a hot chocolate spiked with whiskey and melted marshmallows there; as if she could taste him there.

She didn’t realise until his eyes had darted down to track the movement with a heat that was so different yet so similar to the warmth she had felt throughout her body just a moment before. 

With those eyes, Hermione felt that her chest would cave in with just a sudden movement from him. When she stopped breathing from the anticipation of what would happen next, Draco took a step closer and she sensed him all around her. 

She could hear the fabric of his trousers as he took those last few steps and bridged the distance, she could smell him, leather, apple, and pine with something that was almost spicy and made her shiver with want. He smelt like an autumn night spread out on clean sheets under the stars. She could feel the low heat burning off of him and she reached her hand out just a little further as if she could burn and remember this moment forever, how close she stood next to him and how she wanted to fall further into that inferno. 

She wanted to burn for him. And him alone. 

She constantly read that in the moment before her mouth was claimed the heroine looked into the eyes of a predator. But she was willingly giving herself to the reformed man in front of her that she had once called monster. 

But just as she was falling closer to his arms, he pulled back. 

“I meant what I said, Hermione. No matter who you were in that moment, I would always want it to be you.” 

And her chest ached as she fell back away from him and back into the moment that stood between them as gaping a chasm as the war, stuck on opposite sides. 

No, that wasn’t fair. He had played many parts and shown so many faces. And he had known regret, he had known redemption. 

But her hand wrapped itself around her arm where she knew the words were branded that she dare not say aloud. She knew what she had been to him, she knew his cruelty and torment. She knew that she was capable of being reduced to two syllables within his vocabulary and mind. 

Why now, had he decided that she was worthy? What had he seen of her that he hadn’t seen before?

A small recess of her mind told her that it would be awfully convenient for the group if they were to find something more in one another as the group stood so divided and paired off. Was it the rule of numbers?

She was not another convenience for him to squander. 

She was more than he had ever made her believe that she was. And he needed to find the words to explain what he was feeling and why. 

It wasn’t enough to tell her that he would imagine that she was she alone in his bed. EVen the bookworm she had been in school held standards higher than that, she wanted romance and desire and to be valued for all she was that he had once written off. 

She turned away from him and walked away once again. 

That night the group of friends were gathered together in the living room, getting cozy and boozy. 

“And I would like you all to raise your glass in a toast, to my period of celibacy which begins now.” Pansy holds her own glass of Pixie-made champagne afloat, making eye contact with each person within the group before seeking out Ron’s eyes and giving him a small smile. 

Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes, he knew Pansy, and as much as she liked sex this was overdramatic even for her. But, he raised his glass with everyone else even as he rolled his eyes and bit his tongue. Dressed in an oversized white button up shirt that she was using for a dress and a long knitted sweater vest with her lips shining beneath her barely peach tinted lip oil, Pansy looked so young and you could almost be forgiven for thinking she was sweet and innocent. And Weasley was playing right into her charms. 

He had been holding doors open for her, and pressing his hand to the low of her back in attentive duty, just like Draco had made sure to mention was the gentlemanly thing to do when courting a sacred 28 witch. He was making sure she never carried too much, even when that meant he ended up using Harry and Hermione’s spare hands to help him carry her luggage, as if he had forgotten what magic was. 

But now, knowing that she would be a flower untouched except to blossom under his hands when he was ready to take her, well, it was too perfect of Pansy to have thought to orchestrate.

Ronald was a jealous man, who didn’t always like to play in competitions. Draco knew that Hermione had gently told her as much, that Ronald would only respond badly to sharing Pansy’s affections and being made a fool of in his own eyes.   
So here he was, smiling a smug self-satisfied grin into his butterbeer and flushing red at Pansy’s grin.

He was a lovesick, besotted fool of a man with a tender heart, and Harry stood in the corner snickering at the longing in his best friend’s eyes, even as Ginny elbowed him in the ribs and told him to shut up. 

But it was Hermione, with her flushed cheeks and her glassy eyes dragging over Draco’s full form, her lips wet from her own drink and her pink tongue darting out to chase her drink from her bottom lip, so full and pouty, that made Draco’s drink catch in his throat. 

She was magnificent. 

His little kitten of a lion glowing red in the flames of the fire with her flawless skin of peaches and cream that he knew would have to taste of honeyed berries and creamed coffee. 

She was his breakfast delight and he wanted to devour her. 

“Speaking of celibacy, Granger Darling, I’d very much like to get you tied up in bed with an absolute stud of a man.” She took an exaggerated breath and Hermione’s eyes snapped to hers and narrowed dangerously, waiting for her delivering blow. “I hear Terry Boot is available, and I heard that he is very much in high demand, my love.” 

Ronald’s answering “Oi!” was enough to tint Hermione’s cheek red. 

Hermione hated the way Pansy’s face broke into a dangerous smile when Draco stepped in, as if she had predicted his every movement and had even laid the bait for him. 

“Truly, Parkinson, because I heard that Boot was given the boot for the simple fact that he couldn’t find the clitoris even with a neon sign hanging from it. An abomination in itself to the fairer sex.”

Hermione couldn’t help but tip her head in consideration even as Ginny carefully pulled Harry and her brother from the room, far away from any discussion that involved Hermione and sex. 

Theo answered with a snigger as he leaned closer to Luna to whisper in her ear something deliciously salacious that involved being able to locate her clit blindfolded if only for the noises she made when he found his mark. 

“Furthermore, I am sure that Granger would prefer the affections of a man who didn’t have an apparent lack of backbone, and who thinks he knows more than any other.”

Hermione, who had opened her mouth to speak found that she was left slack jawed as Malfoy, of all people set Pansy straight on her requirements for a man. 

“I never said she had to hold a conversation with him, Draco dearest, just acquaint herself with the useful parts of him.” 

Tired of having a conversation about her without being involved in the conversation, Hermione squared her shoulders and fired right at Draco. 

“And what do you know about my affections, Malfoy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well - a smidge late, darlings. But one of us got very distracted watching MAFS, and the other has experienced an injury that hasn't been very kind. 
> 
> Another weekend*ish upload! 
> 
> Tell me, what are you excited to see on the family holiday?


	7. Pull and Push

Somehow, though not at all surprisingly, the majority of them had ended up defeatingly hungover. A group of adults who went to school together quickly regress to the same rowdy teenagers they had once been when cooped up in a house together with access to copious amounts of booze. Pansy had argued rather vehemently that it wasn’t just ‘booze, it was good booze’. 

As one of the more responsible ones, Hermione had paced herself, and when she rose sooner than everyone else she had carried herself to the opulent bathroom and run herself a bath. She had made use of the essential oils and array of bubble bath until the room was fragrant with steam of freesia, honeysuckle and jasmine. 

Slip had kindly provided a mug of French Early Grey as well as a thick serving of moist madeira cake sprinkled with icing sugar and drizzled honey, accompanied by a side serving of sliced peaches. Hermione had thanked her profusely, telling Slip that she had made the tea just the way Hermione liked it, making Slip blush bashfully and promise to make her tea whenever she wanted one. 

When she was alone, Hermione quickly stripped out of her pyjamas and lowered herself into the much too hot bath water. Her toes stung from going from too cold and quickly thawing in the water, but she could feel the knot in her chest loosening with each deep breath she took. 

The bathroom, in complete contrast to Hermione’s startling white bathroom at home, was more black and gold accents making her naked skin draw attention between the gaps of the bubbles. She was all sweet cream thighs against black marble. Hermione was thankful to see that the only mirror in the bathroom was missing the glass itself, and just had a frame hanging where the mirror should have been. It was curious, but Hermione forget about it as she blushed hotly at the thought of how well she would have been able to make out her naked form under the water otherwise. 

Hermione had given herself explicit instructions that she was not, for any reason, to overthink and analyse Draco Malfoy. Her bath time was a sacred Malfoy free event. Bath time was reserved for her, herself and a good book. 

So why, for the love of Godric, was she thinking of his arms as he had crossed them in the foyer when she and Pansy had arrived late. Why was her mind wandering to the intimacy of his fingers, how they might feel dancing across her thighs. 

No, absolutely not. This stops now. 

Maybe it was the way her head fell back, and the scents in the hot air around her, maybe it was simply that she hadn’t had sex for a while and was feeling particularly stressed about work in general. 

Maybe it was the way his eyes felt so hot but at the same time made her feel like he was outhing ice water onto her nipples and making her beg for it. The way he was distant and yet simmering too close. 

When Hermione rested her hands on the surface of the bath water, her hands grazing against the bubbles she could almost imagine it was the chest of a man. But it felt wrong, knowing that Draco had far less hair dotting his body. She knew that he was the type of man whose hair grew sparsely. Not that she had thought he wouldn’t be, but Pansy had confirmed it for her when Hermione had mentioned in passing that she was uncomfortable with too much body hair tickling against her skin. 

Often Hermione would wonder why she wasn’t as uncomfortable as she thought she should have been knowing that the man she was distressingly attracted to had carried out a sexual relationship with her dear friend for years. 

But the truth was, she couldn’t begrudge them the affection they had shared, nor the release they had sought from one another when they thought they had no one and nothing else. 

Pansy had teased her that she and Draco had not fucked for a while now, that she had on good authority he had not been with another either. She had whispered into Hermone’s ear so that noone else could hear, that it was almost like he was waiting for something in particular. 

It had been the fact that she had looked up at him across the room and he had already been watching her with an intensity that made her shiver that had made her flush bright red and duck her head. 

She didn’t know this Malfoy. It made her restless that it made her want him more, that she wanted to ravage his mind while he ravaged her body. She wanted to understand the thoughts behind the eyes when he looked at her a certain way. 

Just as her fingertip had begun to trace the insides of her thighs in dizzying lines, the door had burst open and Pansy had let out a guttural moan as she pressed a hand to her forehead and stumbled in with a grace that was so at odds with her entrance. 

Hermione let out a shriek and her hands quickly left her thighs to cover her breasts even as she sunk lower into the outrageously large tub. 

“Pansy!”

In her other hand was clutched a champagne glass full of orange juice, and the quirk of her lips when she noticed Hermione looking at the glass confirmed that it wasn’t just orange juice in the glass. 

“Hair of the dog, darling. An absolute necessity.” Pansy rolled her eyes at the way Hermione was frozen in the bath with an outraged expression on her face, the bathroom door still wide open. “Oh please, it’s nothing that I haven’t seen before, Hun.” 

Just as Hermione took her hands away from her chest making sure the bubbles were still thick enough to cover her lower half and splash at Pansy who let out her own answering shriek, Theo came bolting through the wide open door, pulling a maroon knit jumper over his head. 

His hair was a mess and his hand came to pull at it just a touch when he realised that the girls were unharmed and that Hermione was absolutely naked. He quickly spun on his heel and threw his hands over his eyes to block out what he shouldn’t see. 

“You can barely see anything, Theo.” Pansy’s voice was entirely too calm for the riot of emotions going through her own head. “Ohh, Theo! Do you know what I was thinking we could do today?”

Theo turned just enough to keep Hermione out of his view and gave Pansy a confused look. 

“Drink?” 

“I am having a bath!” Hermione was pleased to note that her voice was only an octave or two higher than she expected, and that there was only a slight undertone of hysteria. Pansy have her a dismissive wave with a delicate flick of her wrist that told Hermione that she was quite content to ignore Hermione’s nakedness. 

When Hermione released a huff of breath that told Pansy that she was not happy with the current situation, Pansy rolled her eyes and flicked her wrist again, this time the bath filled with more fresh bubbles and Pansy even took creative license and let rose petals shower on top of her. Hermione shot her a scowl and scooped handfuls of bubbles to her chest. 

“Always assume I am including drinking as a subset of any activity I plan, Theodore, you’ve known me much too long to think otherwise.” Pansy carried on without sparing Hermione a second glance, just leaned back against the sink and made herself comfortable, sipping at her mimosa. “I was thinking we should organise a picnic and set up down by the lake.”

To Theo’s credit, as he gave an enthusiastic nod to Pansy and turned to shoot a cheesy grin at Hermione his eyes never dipped lower than her own eyes. 

And just as she was slowly beginning to relax, Harry’s head popped in from the corridor. 

“Did someone say picnic? It’s been a very long time since I’ve been on a picnic.” Hermione wanted to scream. Harry was stepping more into the room with each word. When he noticed Hermione in the bath she watched his brows furrow and the tips of his ears turn red as his eyes darted from each of them and back. He opened his mouth as if to say something but as he inhaled deeply he closed his mouth again and he took another deep breath. “That smells lovely, what is that? Can I use some for my bath?” 

“Harry James Potter!” Hermione’s mouth fell open aghast. Surely he was her best chance at a sensible approach, he was meant to be responsible! “Out!” 

“Really, Hermione, it’s nothing that we haven’t seen before. Is it Honeysuckle?” He stepped closer to insect the oils by the side of the tub, and Hermione pulled her knees up to her chest to do her best to make herself disappear. 

She had just pressed her hands over her face when she heard her salvation. 

“What in the name of Merlin’s Beard is going on here? Everybody out this instant!” Malfoy’s voice was thunderous. He was very pointedly looking anywhere but at Hermione, as his eyes locked onto Harry’s he seemed to snarl. “I expected better from you, Potter. She deserves your respect at a bare minimum. Everybody get the hell out!”

Harry looked thoroughly chastised, and Hermione might have felt sorry for him if she wasn’t currently in an overcrowded bathroom completely naked. 

Draco stood at his full height and leveled a glare at each and every intruder until they all filed out with minimal complaint.   
Hermione had just offered up a weakly spoken “thank you” when Draco turned on her, and then realised his mistake and promptly looked up at the ceiling, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat. 

“Next time, Granger, lock the bleeding door.” Her mouth dropped open in shock. How was this her fault? 

“I didn’t see a lock! Not that it makes any difference, I had wrongly assumed our friends would know better than to disturb me midbath!” 

Hermione could have sworn she could hear his teeth grinding. 

“Are you, or are you not, a ruddy witch, Granger? A witch in a pureblood house. Use your wand!” As he turned to walk away she could hear him mumbling ‘something that sounded oddly like ‘brightest witch of her age my ass’.

Infuriated she, in hindsight, rashly splashed at him. 

He turned around to glare at her and she felt a smug sense of satisfaction until she realised his eyes were darting lower than they should. 

In her (childlike) retaliation, she had disrupted the nest of bubbles she was using to protect her modesty. She watched Draco’s eyes turn from irritated and somewhat murderous to starved as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. 

In mortification, Hermione looked down to see that peachy nipples were on display, and she would have been even more embarrassed if Draco’s reaction hadn't left her wanting to feel his lips pressed against her skin. She almost wanted to hate her body for reacting to his gaze. 

The way her nipples pebbled under his eyes, the way her stomach fell in a violent swoop that made her think of fairyfloss and carnival lights. But more than that, the pulse that felt like a beacon between her thighs.

“Draco,” she doesn’t know if she said his name in warning or in pleading, but his name felt strangled on her lips, and she wanted him to just touch her. But at the sound of his name on her lips his head whipped up to look into her eyes. She wonders if he saw how badly she needed him, not just in this moment, but for a long time coming, reflected in her eyes. 

In three quick strides he was at the bath’s edge, and he fell to his knees beside her and hands as large as her face came up tp cradle her to him, dragging her lips to his almost violently. 

And she grew nails. 

She pushed back just as hard as he pulled, and she swears he mewled into her mouth and called her his little lion. 

His mouth was hot and wet against her own, and he tasted like mint and cinnamon, and she needed more, sliding her tongue against his and nipping at his lips. 

His hands were on her breasts, cupping the roundness of her and thumbing at her nipples and she thought that she was on fire. She wanted more, she wanted him. She arched into his hand, unsure how she managed to stop herself from taking his hand and pressing it against her core and begging him to make her come. 

“Say it again,” his voice was like an earthquake through her body and the fault line ran through her center. “My name, say my name again.” 

She didn’t realise until she breathed his name out again how truly wanton she sounded. A woman possessed by need. 

And as quickly as he had been there, he was gone. 

She felt dizzy and confused as she looked up to find him backing away, the knees of his pajamas wet from where he had knelt by her side. 

His hands scrubbed at his face as he shouted out a ‘fuck’. 

And with nothing else said between them, he walked out, slamming the door behind him, and Hermione curled in on herself in the bath, pulling her knees to her chest and letting the shocked tears fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Sunday Lovers! I hope you enjoy! 
> 
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